


Guy Talk.

by RT Fice (RT_Fice)



Series: A Beetlejuice Valentine. [10]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Getting To Know Your Lover's Dad, Humor, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17873927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RT_Fice/pseuds/RT%20Fice
Summary: Lydia's off at college.  Worried, Beetlejuice investigates new construction at her parents' house.  This leads to an unexpected commiseration with Charles about women, which leads to an unexpected invitation to a party, in which Beetlejuice meets the one person he wants to kill more than any other.This was from a challenge by a friend to write a non-Ship Beej story in under 4 hours.  I wrote it in 2.





	1. The Invitation.

**Author's Note:**

> I just discovered this in a folder of fics I wrote seven years ago. This one follows this story cycle:
> 
> "Coming of Age."  
> "Flashback."  
> "A Beetlejuice & Lydia Valentine."
> 
> and takes place two weeks after the last story. It mentions incidents in the other stories, so if you haven't read those first this might not make sense to you.
> 
> I've always loved the scenes in the series in which "Mr. Beetleman" messes with Charles, so I decided to explore what they might say if they sat down for drinks as adults without the daughter around.
> 
> If you're hoping for Beej/Charles, sorry, nope. It's two het dudes talking about women.

So the Deetzs weren’t moving. They were building.

Beetlejuice manifested in his characteristic form and stepped out from the trees lining the hill. The workmen were off for lunch. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he walked around the foundation and framed walls.

“Mr. Beetleman?” Charles’ voice came from the house’s porch.

 _Shit_. There was no time to vanish. The ghost shifted into his “Mr. Beetleman” outfit: striped overalls, magenta shirt, and striped cap.

Charles Deetz was in his black and green house robe over his pajamas, holding a mug. He walked up to the ghost.

“Hey, Mr. D.” _Last person I want to goddamn see_. “Got curious about th' noise an’ all.”

“Delia’s new studio.” Charles sighed with relief. “ _Away_ from the _house_.”

“Yeah. Good idea.”

“She’s been literally banging around the house. I thought a new studio would keep her, uh, occupied. Right now she’s in Hartford, picking out lighting fixtures.” Uncharacteristically chatty, he added, “She’s been especially restless, with Lydia back in college.”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice sighed. “I can identify.”

Charles looked at him, confused.

“I mean, I can understand. Yer only kid is away from home, it’s just th' two of ya, in that big house.” _An’ me, haunting you, when I’m bored._

Charles seemed to consider Beetlejuice for the first time. “You have any kids, Mr. Beetleman?”

“Me? Shit, no.” Beetlejuice chuckled and quickly said, “Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with th' cute little tykes.”

“You ever been married?”

 _Why’s he asking these questions?_ “Naw.”

“Ever engaged?”

“I’m not th’ marryin’ kind, Mr. D.”

Charles sighed longingly. “Oh, the single life.” He amended, “Don’t get me wrong. I love my wife, and my pumpkin is the more precious to me than life itself.”

“Yeah, I got that impression.” Beetlejuice recalled Charles’ threatening him with the letter opener. He still resented him for it, but had decided to restrain himself from seeking further vengeance, for Lydia’s sake.

“But…sometimes…” Charles leaned a bit closer to the ghost. “Sometimes you think about what it’d be like to not have the responsibility. If you know what I mean.”

“I hear ya. That’s one of th’ reasons I never got nailed down.”

Charles winked. “Bet you’ve played the field in your day.”

Beetlejuice let out a honk of a laugh. “Played th’ field? I owned th' ballpark!”

The two men chortled. They stopped and stared at each other.

“How about a drink?” Charles nodded toward the house.

Beetlejuice blinked. He shrugged. “What th’ hell.”

At the wet bar in the living room, Charles got out two glasses. “What’ll you have?”

Beetlejuice leaned back on the couch with the chinchilla throw blanket and matching pillows. “If you’ve got whiskey, I’m not sayin’ no.”

Charles, grinning, held up a bottle. “I’ve got Springbank.”

Beetlejuice sat up, gaping. “Shit no, you don’t! Fifteen year?”

Pouring, Charles bragged, “Oh yes.”

Taking the glass, Beetlejuice raised it in a toast and spoke in a cultured accent. “Charles Deetz, you’re a gentleman and a scholar.”

“No,” said Charles, sitting in his armchair and raising his own glass, “I’m a wealthy real estate mogul and technology investor.”

“Here’s grave dirt in yer eye.” Beetlejuice kicked back the shot. He shook his head, his nostrils flaring. “Whoa. That’ll raise th’ dead, know whut I mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Charles, getting up and bringing the bottle from the bar to the coffee table, “I love having Delia and Lydia around. But, well, I _did_ move here for the peace and quiet.” He refilled his glass and Beetlejuice’s and sat. “Living with two women all the time…” His sentence trailed off, and he looked at the ghost to see if he understood.

Beetlejuice nodded. “Hey, why d’ya think I’ve never wanted a dame underfoot?”

Charles laughed. “’Dame.’ I didn’t think anyone used that word anymore. You must be older than I thought.”

 _You have no idea, Chuckie_. Beetlejuice closed one eye, pointed the forefinger of his hand holding the tumbler at Charles, and said, “I’m guessin’ you’re…thirty-four.”

Charles shook his head. “Thirty-six.”

“Crap, no. I’m thirty-seven.” _An’ have been for the past seventy-eight years._

“Hey. We’re the same generation!” Charles sipped his drink and said, reflectively, “Thirty- six. Strange how the years fly by, isn’t it?”

“Well, don’t worry. The Afterlife isn’t—“Beetlejuice immediately stopped himself. He gulped from his glass.

“Are you religious, Mr. Beetleman?”

“No, no, never been into that.”

“I used to be, growing up. But, well, life has a way of making you reassess beliefs. Having a child gives you a new perspective on everything.”

“Suppose it would.”

“I think we did all right with Lydia,” Charles mused aloud, staring into space. “She seems happy, well-adjusted.”

Beetlejuice gazed longingly into the amber liquid. “She’s a helluva person, Deetz.”

“I like to think so. I was afraid…” Charles paused, as if tip-toeing into a subject he was uncomfortable about, but grateful to have someone to talk to about it. “She dated a young man a while back.”

Beetlejuice’s nostrils twitched. He took a swig. “Did she?”

“Mm. Seemed a nice enough guy. Accomplished and all. Polite and well-bred.”

 _So are some dogs_. With restraint he asked, “She still seein' him?”

“That’s the thing. She dropped him. Her mother and I were quite surprised. His parents were even more surprised than we were. Well. To be honest, he didn’t seem her type.” Charles refilled his glass. “Thing is, I’ve no idea what her type _is_.”

Beetlejuice refilled. He cleared his throat. “Soooo...she’s not seein’ somebody else?”

“You know, I have the distinct impression she is.”

Beetlejuice’s head jerked . Worried, he stared at Charles. “Yeah?”

“She sure seems darn happy. Loves coming home, hates going back to college. When we take her back to her college room, she always looks around as if she wishes someone was there who isn’t.”

Beetlejuice perked up. “Yeah?”

“Last time, she kept fingering this locket.” Charles’ eyebrows rose as if he were extremely impressed by something. “Absolutely gorgeous. I’m a New Yorker, I’ve been to more than a few up-scale jewelers, and I can tell you, that was a work of art. I heard her mutter, ‘As soon as exams are over, I’ve got to try calling him.’”

The ghost grinned proudly. He leaned back and sipped.

“She could never afford such a thing on her own. Typically, she never wears gold. It must have been a special person who gave her that locket.” An edge was developing to the man’s voice. He looked as if this was a secret he was deciding whether or not to investigate.

“As long as she seems happy,” Beetlejuice said, not liking Charles’ expression.

“I just don’t want anyone taking advantage of her.”

“Look, she’s got a great head on her shoulders. I can’t believe she’d put up with someone who’d treat her bad. She ditched this young guy, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but you know what it’s like at that age. You think someone’s right for you, when he isn’t.” Charles looked unhappy. He gazed over at the ghost and said, confidentially, “Lydia’s from my first marriage, you know.”

“Naw, I didn’t,” Beetlejuice lied.

Charles emptied his glass and nodded. “Thought the moon and the stars of Lydia’s mother. Married in college. She was gorgeous, like Lydia…” He looked at Beetlejuice, as if seeking confirmation.

Not wanting to walk in that minefield again, the ghost replied, “Gorgeous. Right.”

“Midnight hair, bedroom eyes. You wouldn’t know it to look at me, Beetleman, but,” Charles tapped his fist on his chest, “there’s a _tiger_ in here.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Beetlejuice, holding off his nausea.

“One look at Lydia’s mother, and I was a lost man. But,” Charles’ voice dropped, turning cold and gray, “I was too young and inexperienced to recognize a gold digger. I kept wondering why she picked me over the handsomer guys who were dogging her. She knew I was a better financial prospect. Turned out she was right. But, money only lasts so long. She figured she could have her alimony and her yoga instructor, too.”

Beetlejuice had no idea what to say. He’d never seen Charles as anything but a sucker, an easy mark, a chicken, and an obstacle. Seeing him as a person was disturbing.

“But, then I met Delia at the MOMA.”

Beetlejuice squinted. “You met Delia’s momma?”

“No, I met her at the Museum of Modern Art, in New York. Well. She sure wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before.”

“Ya got me convinced,” Beetlejuice snorted, refilling his glass.

“Lydia was depressed for quite a while after the divorce. She didn’t take to Delia at all, and, to be honest, Delia wasn’t what you’d call an instinctive mother. That’s one of the reasons we moved here. I thought, maybe, in the peace, we’d all form into a family.”

The ghost topped off Charles’ drink and sat down. “It seems to have worked out okay.”

“Oh, it was touch and go at the beginning. Delia _hated_ it here. Lydia seemed to as well, until…” Charles took a mouthful of Springbank, rolled it around with his tongue thoughtfully, and swallowed. “About the time those… _things_ … started happening. Shortly after that. Lydia perked up considerably.”

Beetlejuice grinned, then pulled a serious face. “Things?”

“Nothing, really. The doctor said it was psychological stress manifesting latently, or something. And perhaps strange natural gasses rising from this old house’s foundation, or unknown mold, causing hallucinations. Anyway. Lydia recovered marvelously. I thought she’d found a new friend. Maybe it was Bertha and Prudence who cheered her up.”

“Maybe,” said Beetlejuice, swirling the liquor in his glass.

“But the person who gave her that necklace, I want to meet that person.” Charles’ tone hinted that he might not welcome the person, if he did met him.

“Ah, she probably got it herself. I bet it’s not real gold.”

“Maybe Chad got it for her,” Charles mused. “Maybe she doesn’t want us to know she’s back with him. I didn’t really like him much. Smug.”

Scowling, the ghost said, “He still sniffing around her?”

“Oh, yes.” Charles looked at the ghost intently. “How many women have you had, Beetleman?”

Startled while taking a drink, Beetlejuice almost spilled it. He sputtered, “Well, uh…”

“C’mon.” Charles winked. “Between us guys.”

Beetlejuice said, “Hey. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Yes. But we screw and brag.”

They roared. Charles poked Beetlejuice’s shoulder insistantly. “All right, buster, let the cat out of the bag. How many?”

Leaning back again, the ghost counted. “Roughly? Thousand or more.”

“That’s a lie!”

Beetlejuice held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. An’ one of ‘em was the Scout Master’s wife!”

They kicked their feet in the air, laughing so hard the whiskey sloshed in their glasses.

“You’re lying, I swear!” Charles challenged.

“Why? ‘Cause I look like this?” Beetlejuice snorted indignantly. “Women aren’t like us, Deetz. Lemme tell ya.” He leaned forward. Charles leaned to meet him. “You make one feel good, I mean, send her to th’ moon an’ back, an’ that’s as good as paid advertising.”

“You mean,” Charles lowered his voice, “ _sexually_?”

Beetlejuice nodded. “Make a woman’s eyes roll back in her head, an’ she’ll tell her friends. She’ll tell everyone at th' beauty parlor, th' grocery store, th' PTA. Married, single, virgins an' little old ladies, they’ll come looking for _you_.”

“No!” Charles protested.

Beetlejuice closed his eyes and held up his hand in testimony. “Sure as I’m de—livin’ an’ breathin’.”

Charles squinted. “Women tell each other about… _that_?”

“What th’ hell ya _think_ they’re cacklin’ about all th' time?”

“But, to tell each other a certain guy is great in… that just sounds so…unfeminine.”

“Deetz, you may be a man of the world, but when it comes to women…” Beetlejuice turned his thumb down and blew a wet raspberry.

Charles was two sheets to the wind, and on his way to three. He shook his head, disbelieving.

“Th' secret,” said Beetlejuice, leaning back confidently, one arm behind his head, “is to only be with a woman _once_. Ya do it more than once, it’s never as great as th' first time. But make that _one time_ knock her socks off, an' not only will she beg for more, which ya don’t give her, but she’ll tell her girlfriends.”

“Wow,” said Charles, sitting back and blinking with awe. “So, you screwed… _all kinds?_ ”

Beetlejuice grinned. “Hey, when there’s a banquet, why limit yerself to one entrée?”

“So, you’ve never been in love?”

Beetlejuice’s smug smile dropped. He swallowed uncomfortably.

“You old dog!” Charles laughed. “Don’t tell me you caught the bug once?”

“Yeah.” Beetlejuice emptied his glass.

“And you’ve still got it!”

“Oh, yeah.” The ghost poured to the brim.

Eagerly, Charles asked, “What’s she like?”

Nervously loosening his tie and clearing his throat, the ghost said, “Well…”

“She a looker?”

“Oh, shit, ya better believe it.”

“Does she have great,” Charles held his cupped hands in front of his chest, to indicate size, “tits?”

“Full, round, firm, not too big.” Beetlejuice was getting an evil thrill, talking to her father. “Just right, man.”

Whispering, Charles asked, “In bed?”

“Oh god. Heaven, Deetz. Th' best.”

“Out of over a _thousand_?”

“Yeah.”

Charles pointed at the ghost. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You’ve been with _her_ more than once?”

Beetlejuice looked at the chair Charles was sitting in, the couch, thought of Lydia’s room, his room, the backyard of the Roadhouse (“So tha’s how human’s do it,” said The Monster Across The Street, stumbling across them. “Feel lik’ Ah’m watchin’ one ah them thar nature documentaries. Jus’ keep on wid whut yer doin’, don’ mind me.”), the kitchen island, the Deetzes’ back yard… “Yeah,” he said.

“Are you going to dump her?”

Beetlejuice bristled, then remembered that Charles had no idea who he was talking about. “I’m there as long as she wants me.”

“Does she live with you?”

“Naw. She’s at college—“ _Shit_ _!_ Beetlejuice winced.

“Ooh. You like them young.”

“Not particularly. It all just kinda…happened.”

“Yes.” Charles nodded sympathetically. “Like being hit by a truck from out of nowhere, isn’t it?”

“An’ havin’ it back up over ya.”

“Then flatten you again.”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t know pain till I fell for her. An’ believe me, Chuckie, I know _pain_.”

“That’s the way it was with Lydia’s mother and me. They say men can’t feel deeply, but, I swear…if it hadn’t been for my daughter, and for meeting Delia, I believed my life was over.”

“Sucks.”

“Big time.”

Both men sighed.

“But,” Charles perked up, “I’ve got my Delia. And you’ve got the Mystery Girl.” He asked, conspiratorially, “Care to tell me her name?”

“Discretion is the better part of not screwing things up,” said Beetlejuice. _An’ of not havin’ you come at me with some sort of weapon._

Charles whispered, “She’s really the best in bed?”

“Part of it’s how ya feel about them, Deetz. I never gave a damn if I ever saw any of th' others again. This one…she’s special. Once in a lifetime…an' beyond. Know whut I mean?”

“I think I do.”

Beetlejuice chuckled, and added, “Plus, she _loves it_.”

“Really?”

“You get women an’ girls, they’re nervous, they don’t know what they like, it’s kinda a chore, givin’ ‘em the right ‘juice. But my special girl, she’s something else. She knows what she wants, isn’t _afraid_ to want it, _and_ , she’s _enthusiastic_.”

“No crap?”

“If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’…so t’speak.”

Both men sat back, sipping their drinks, staring into the air contemplatively.

“Shit,” said Beetlejuice. “Now I’m horny as hell.”

“I hear you,” complained Charles.

“Fill it up, Deetz.”

“To the ladies and how they make our brown balls blue,” said Charles, filling.

They drank.

A car honked in the driveway.

“Delia!” cried Charles, eagerly.

“Ah, jeez.” Beetlejuice drained his glass.

His wife came in lugging two huge shopping bags and stood in the hall by the door to the living room.

“Delia!” Charles leaped up, grabbed her and kissed her passionately.

Delia pulled back. “Charles! I—“ She stopped, seeing the ghost. “Mr. Beetleman?”

Beetlejuice waved from his seat. “Hey, how ya doin’?”

Delia stared at Charles. She sniffed. “Charles! It’s only five p.m.!”

“Oh, loosen up, woman!” he said, hugging her.

“I was jus’ leavin’.” Weaving a bit, the ghost rose, set the tumbler on the coffee table, and headed toward the door. “Nice studio yer gonna have, Mrs. D.”

“Why, thank you,” she answered, staring.

“We were just being guys, commiserating,” chuckled Charles. “Hey, Beetleman.” Charles laid a hand on the ghost’s shoulder. “Howza ‘bout you come over Saturday night, for cocktails?”

“Charles?” Delia’s tone sounded as if her husband were inviting an ax murderer.

“Tut tut tut!” Charles drunkenly put a finger on Delia’s prominent chin. “We’ll invite some people from New York, from Sarah Lawrence. Hell, a bunch of grownups with their kids off to college! Time _we_ had some fun.”

“I’ll be there, Chuckie.” Beetleman doffed his cap to Delia and winked as he passed her. “See ya then, Red.”

“Red?” Delia turned to her husband, and said, insistently, “Charles!”

Charles squeezed her in an embrace with a big, wet, kiss.

Beetlejuice closed the door. He vanished from the porch and reappeared in his bedroom in the Neitherworld. He looked at Lydia’s photo on the wall.

“Fer once, I envy Chicken-livered Chuckie.” He considered, then gagged. “With _Delia_. _Ack, ptooey!_ I take it back.” He held up the bottle of Springbank he’d swiped in a salute to Lydia’s photo. “Till exams are over, beautiful.”

**The End.**

 


	2. The Party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn’t planned this second chapter to "Guy Talk." But this follow-up began rattling around in my brain ever since a person asked, “So what happens at the party Charles invites Beej to?” My imagination wanted two characters to meet for the first time. The only way to shut the story up was to nail it down in type.
> 
> There are characters here from "Coming of Age" and "A Beetlejuice & Lydia Valentine," so you might not understand all this if you haven't read those first.
> 
> *~*~*~*~*

“What _possessed_ you to invite him?” Delia fussed with the chinchilla throw and pillows on the living room couch. For the third time, she inspected the cleaning crew’s work on the glass and chrome coffee table, and jerked the concrete-and-rebar pedestal sculpture, _The Incredible Lightness of Delia_ , into what she hoped was a more effectively _fung shui_ angle.

“Get to know him,” said Charles, watching his wife fret and knowing better than to get in her way. “He’s surprisingly…interesting.”

“So is a car accident,” said Delia ominously, “if you live through it.”

“I think the man has hidden depths.”

“So does the abandoned well in the far yard, Charles. And I don’t want to know what’s at the bottom of _that_ , either.”

The doorbell rang. Delia jumped. She smoothed her orange, knee-length, off-one-shoulder dress, and tottered to the front door on her orange vinyl high heels.

“Thank god it’s you!” Delia gratefully flung the door open for Tom and Sandy Lowell.

“I brought wine!” Tom declared, holding bottles over his head as if he’d just bagged them on safari.

“Who were you expecting?” asked Sandy, as Delia took her mink coat.

“No one!” Delia lied, stuffing the coat in the closet.

The doorbell rang. “C.W.! Punky!” Delia held the door open for the dour couple. “Charles! It’s the Brewsters! We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“God knows I’d be happy to never see this damn village again,” grunted the stolid man with the bad comb-over and the expensive suit. As Charles offered his hand to shake, the man grumbled, “You’re the real estate expert, Deetz. When will I get an offer on that place of mine?”

“Impossible to say,” Charles replied with a shrug, as the man gave his hand a perfunctory shake, then headed into the living room. Charles followed. “McMansions, I mean, homes like yours aren't hot on the market now. Everyone’s waiting to see where the economy's going before they spend the kind of money you’re asking.”

C.W. Brewster muttered incoherently as he grabbed a glass and held it out to Tom Lowell, who was uncorking a bottle. “How’s it going, Lowell?” he asked, obviously not caring how Lowell was or wasn’t, as long as he was pouring.

“Absolutely top of the class, Brewster. You’ll love this, it’s a 2003 Glatzer Zweigelt ‘Dornenvogel’—“

“What? Goddamit, Lowell, I’m not drinking any German booze.”

Tom’s enthusiastic expression fell. “It’s Austrian.”

“Same difference! Goddamnit, why doesn’t anybody ever bring _American_ booze, why do we keep supporting these damn foreigners?”

“We _need_ trade with the foreigners, C.W.,” said Pearl ‘Punky’ Brewster, sitting beside Sandy Lowell on the couch. “ _Someone_ has to buy our weapons.”

“That’s right,” chuckled Charles. “Imagine having to sell to _Americans_. Why, states would start bombing each other in a second!”

Only he and Delia laughed. Their guests’ expressions indicated that this was an idea worth considering.

The doorbell rang several times, as if someone was poking it. “Just a second,” said Charles, scurrying off.

“Beetleman!” Charles surprised himself with the welcome in his voice. “Thought you wouldn’t make it.”

Delia came to the door, warily squinting at the new arrival. “And you look so….relaxed.”

Beetlejuice wore a black, Hawaiian-style shirt, covered with a pattern of white skulls, and dark magenta pants, along with his usual black boots. He held a crumpled brown paper bag. “Hey, Red. Ya said it was a casual get-together, so I left my tuxedo at th' cemetery.”

Charles laughed and slapped “Beetleman” on the back as he entered. Delia glared at her husband.

“The name is _Delia_ ,” she firmly reminded the ghost.

“Good. It suits ya. The name’s B.J., Red.” He held the crumpled bag out to her.

“Charles,” said Delia, stepping away from the bag as if it contained something catching and deadly, “I’m going to show Sandy my new studio. You can show Mr. Beetleman—“

“B.J.”

“ _B.J._ inside.” Delia hurried into the living room, grabbed Sandy Lowell by the wrist, and blurted, “You wanted to see the studio, now’s the perfect time.”

Sandy followed, alarmed but compliant.

“C’mon in,” said Charles, putting his arm around Beetlejuice’s shoulders and walking him into the living room. “Everyone’s here now.”

The moment Beetlejuice entered the room, all eyes locked on him.

“Uh oh..,” said the ghost under his breath.

“Him?” said Tom Lowell.

“Him!” exclaimed C.W. Brewster, jumping to his feet and pointing accusingly. “That’s the bastard who got my daughter in trouble!”

“In trouble?” Tom Lowell snickered. “ _That_ guy?”

“Not in **that** way, goddammit! He bought her booze and unknown substances! _He_ caused the party to go out of control!”

“No disrespect to yer daughter,” said Beetlejuice, calm as you please, “but th’ police cleared me. _Remember?_ Sure, I took her an’ her friends to th' bar. Even th’ _bartender_ said she lied about her age. “

“You admit you bought a girl younger than you inebriating liquor!”

“I wasn’t holdin’ a gun to her head. An’ it’s not like we were alone. She had her whole posse with her every second. I was just bein’ generous, y’know, to a kid who’d been beat up by that storm. That’s just th’ way I am.”

“Ha!” retorted C.W. dramatically. “HA!”

“I _wasn’t_ at her party. Sure, a bunch of,” he mimed quotation marks, ‘’eye witnesses’ claimed I was there. But they were all high. An’ their phone videos all prove I wasn’t t’be seen _anywhere_.”

“My Claire says it was you!” C.W. stalked toward the ghost and halted in front of him. His fists balled at his sides, as if he were only barely restraining himself from slugging the man. “My Claire _swears_ you shoved your tongue down _\---_ “

“Your Claire,” said Beetlejuice, yawning as he walked past the man to the bar, “needs t' stop puttin’ things in her mouth that aren’t good for her. Know whut I mean? So how _is_ th' little darlin' doin’? Oops, not so little any more, is she?”

“She has a contract with _Victoria’s Secret!_ ” said Punky perkily. “They're creating a new line named after her, for fat size girls!  She's also in negotiations with _Torrid_ for a line with _them!_   She's getting even more work than she ever had before!"  She shrugged as if this was overwhelming.  "Who _knew_ fat girls bought _clothes?_ ”

“ _Well_ ,” sneered Beetlejuice bitterly, “ain’t that just _special_. Bravo fer her.”

“Deetz!” Mr. Brewster’s face turned an impressive shade of scarlet. “I demand that man be thrown out at once!”

“Now, C.W.,” said Charles, desperate to defuse the situation, “everything Beetleman says is true. We all read the newspapers; we all saw the TV reports. He was cleared of any involvement.”

“I won’t stand for—“

“Oh, buck up, man.” Tom Lowell stuck a glass full of amber liquid in the square jawed man’s hand. “Here. Good, old American Jack Daniels.”

Muttering under his heavy breath, but acquiescing, the C.E.O. gulped the entire contents of the tumbler.

“So. Beetleman.” Lowell looked the ghost up and down. “Any problems getting rid of my car?”

“None whatsoever, _Lowell_.” Beetlejuice shook the man’s hand until Lowell yanked it away. “It was _all_ taken care of.” _An’ I love takin’ my Lyds for drives in it._

That the transformed, now ghostly, luxury sedan had belonged to Chad’s father had creeped Lydia out. It was the exact make and model as Chad’s. But a long ride, first through the countryside, and then on Beetlejuice in the back seat, had warmed her to it.

“Which charity did you donate it to?” Lowell couldn’t hide the suspicion in his tone.

Beetlejuice shook his head. “It was too trashed. Nothin’ worth scavenging’. I had t’get it towed an’ scrapped fer a loss. But, y’know, I was happy to help out. Any friend of Chuck and Red’s, etcetera. Hey, is anybody barkeepin’ in this joint, or is it serve yerself? How’s about crackin’ open that bottle I brought, Chuck?”

Charles examined the bottle’s label. His face went deep pink. “Uh…I don’t think I’ve ever encountered _this_ brand before.”

“What’s it called?” Punky turned the bottle in Charles’ reluctant hand. Her eyes widened. “Oh. My.”

“Good ol’ ‘ _Devil’s Balls_ ,’” said Beetlejuice, proudly, taking it from his host. He stabbed a corkscrew into its neck and tugged out the cork. Something reminiscent of the last moan pushed from a corpse’s diaphragm rose from the opening in a grayish whiff of mist. “Exclusively from Neitherworld Distilleries. Yeah, people are just dyin’ t’get their hands on this stuff.”

Tom Lowell sniffed. “It’s…a whiskey? Rye? Wheat? Malt? Corn?”

“Oh, a little of this’n that.” The ghost muttered, “Nightshade, powdered mummy, essence of blue lotus, Dimethyltryptamine …”

“What?” said Tom.

“And sassafras, fer taste,” Beetlejuice finished, grinning in a warm and friendly way. He filled four shot glasses, and offered one each to C.W., Tom, Charles, and Punky. He lifted the bottle in salute and as an invitation to join him. They obviously needed to loosen up. “Here’s to suckin’ on th' ‘Devil’s Balls,’ guys.” Seeing their hesitation, he kicked back a mouthful.

The three living men lifted the shot glasses, glanced at each other, and, as if synchronized, gulped. They immediately coughed and hacked like cats strangling on hairballs.

“Oh. My.” Punky screwed up her face and swallowed. She turned puce and retched dryly as if inhaling a box of lit cigars.

“Good heavens.” Sandy Lowell entered the living room. She and Delia stared at the others, who were bent over, gasping and choking. She turned to Beetlejuice, the only person not coughing up a lung. “What on earth did you—“

Her eyes met his. She froze.

“Sandy?” said Delia.

Beetlejuice swallowed nervously. _Oh, shit. She_ _ **knows**_.

Among the Living, a few were sensitive to the presence of the supernatural. Some felt only a chill in the air. A very few could pinpoint a specific object or area where there was ghostly activity. A very rare segment of the Living could recognize the supernatural if they were staring it in the face. Lydia had this ability.

Evidently, so did Sandy Lowell.

“Hon?” said Tom, concerned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

 _Stay calm_ , _‘Juice_. Beetlejuice smiled cordially at the woman as her eyes widened, her pupils expanded, and her breathing caught. _She doesn’t know that you’re_ _ **dead**_ _. They hardly ever do. She’s only pickin’ up that somethin’s not right._

The typical human imagination couldn’t and wouldn’t make the leap to believing that the person speaking to them, who was solid and breathing, was in fact a physically manifested ghost, even if they believed in ghosts. Ghosts, they assumed, had the consistency of white fog. They didn’t sit on bar stools, drinking whiskey with people known to be alive. Beetlejuice knew most people had been trained since babyhood to distrust their instincts. Sandy Lowell looked as if her training and her instincts were in immediate conflict. She probably hadn’t picked up on his otherworldliness when they’d met before because of the excitement about her husband’s car. But now, she was noticing. He had to do something. Running or vanishing weren’t options; they’d look suspicious.

“Whoa, hey, steady there, Mrs. L.” Beetlejuice slipped off the bar stool and took the woman gently by the elbow. She flinched, unable to take her eyes off his, or to blink. “I know Red’s art is horrifying, but yer takin’ it too hard. Why don’t ya sit down in that nice, comfy armchair?”

Sandy jerked her arm from Beetlejuice’s grasp. She whispered, “Tom…”

“You look like you’re having an attack, Sandy!” said Delia. “How about some ice tea? Charles, get the ice tea from the refrigerator!”

“I’m on it, Red.” Beetlejuice dashed into the kitchen.

“Tom, that _man_...,” Beetlejuice heard Sandy whisper fearfully.

“Well, yes, he’s ugly as sin, hon’, but don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

The ghost grabbed the glass pitcher of tea and brought it to the bar. As the others were crowded with concern around the frightened woman, he performed an old sleight of hand he’d used in life. Quickly, he dropped the bottle of Neitherworld liquor behind the bar, and slipped a half shot of it into a glass. He added tea, a heaping spoonful of sugar, a handful of ice, stirred thoroughly, and topped it with a crushed fresh mint leaf to disguise the smell.

Beetlejuice handed it to Delia, knowing Sandy Lowell wouldn’t touch anything he’d handled.

Her mouth having gone dry as bone, Sandy swallowed what she thought to be only tea. It was down her gullet before she felt the burn. She coughed until her eyes watered. “What was _in_ that?!” she demanded.

“Ah, jeez, too much sugar and mint,” said Beetlejuice, humbly. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Gradually, Sandy Lowell’s pupils contracted. Her nose tip and high cheeks blushed. The Neitherworld liquor had a reputation for heightening responses to pleasure, while binding and gagging reason and common sense, and tossing them in the basement until the fun was over. In the After Life, there weren’t much in the way of consequences, except social embarrassment, so those who had been very reserved in their behavior during Life often turned to some liquid assistance to cut loose. _Devil’s Balls_ was the first thing any Neitherworld bartender or liquor store clerk recommended.

It was not, however, meant to be consumed by the Living. The Dead weren’t _supposed_ to bring things from the Neitherworld to the Living World.

Beetlejuice did a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to do.

The liquor intensified Sandy’s emotions, all right. But the wrong ones. “Oh god!” She sobbed and pointed a perfectly manicured nail at Beetlejuice. “There’s something wrong with that man!”

“Aww!” Tom, also under the influence, clasped his wife’s face with both hands, making her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk storing nuts. He shook her face as he said in baby-talk, “Izza widdle wifey scared by the ugly ugly handy man?”

Delia, who hadn’t drunk a thing yet, made a face. “Tom?”

“Relax, woman!” Charles grabbed Delia by the wrist and swung her in a circle in the middle of the living room. “The kid’s away, the grown-ups can play!”

“What he said!” Beetlejuice thrust a drink in Delia’s hand. “Down th’ hatch!”

Never too old for peer pressure, Delia threw back her head and gulped. She coughed until her mascara ran.

“I feeling rather…,” C.W. searched for a word that wasn’t in his vocabulary, “whatever it is you feel when you’re not wanting to dominate everyone else in the room.”

“Friendly?” Tom offered.

C.W. nodded and pointed at the taller man. “ _That_.”

“ _Yeah!”_ Beetlejuice rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get this party started, ladies an’ gentlemen an’ all the ships at sea!” He snapped his fingers. “ _I_ know what we need!”

Lydia had of course known that Beetlejuice wouldn’t need a key to her new bedroom door lock. His finger did the job. She had kept the stackable record player in her room, using it even when he wasn’t there. The ghost hefted it, relocked the door, and brought it downstairs.

“ _How_ did you get that out of my daughter’s room?” Delia was suspicious and indignant.

“Didn’t.” He dropped it with a _thunk_ on the bar. “It was in th’ attic.”

“How did _you_ know it was there?”

“I’m th’ one took it up there for her.”

“But, but I didn’t see you come by and—“

“You an’ Mr. D. were off doin’ somethin’, didn’t ask, none of my business.”

Charles expression turned serious. “Do you come by often when we’re not here and Lydia’s alone?”

 _Uh oh._ “That was the only time, Chuck,” he said, casually. “Smart girl, not wanting to haul this heavy thing up those narrow stairs by herself. And let’s face it, Chuckster,” he elbowed Charles’ stomach on his way behind the bar, “you’re not in any shape to do it yerself.” He lifted a record off the five stacked on the turntable.

“I always said she was a smart girl.” Tom heartily slapped Charles on the back, almost knocking him over. “She was smart enough to pick my Chad!”

The record snapped in Beetlejuice’s hand.

“Oh! You didn’t cut yourself, did you?” asked Punky.

“Me? Naw. I get these little _twitches_ , is all. Who wants t’hear Led Zeppelin anyway?” He tossed the shards in the trash behind the bar.

“But, we _have_ a state-of-the-art quadrophonic digital sound system and radio receiver,” offered Charles.

“Aw, c’mon. Let’s have some fun, Old School style. Break out yer dancin’ shoes.” Beetlejuice dropped the needle on a record. The speakers hissed.

Delia went almost as pale as Sandy. “Dance? You’re…you’re not suggesting _dancing?_ ”

“I’m not _suggestin’_ , Red.” Beetlejuice grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. “I’m _doin’_.”

“OH!”

Charles, Tom, C.W., Sandy and Punky stared as “B.J.” possessed Delia’s feet and got her into step, as Lionel Hampton sang,

 _Hey, ba ba re bop_  
hey ba ba re bop  
Yes, your baby knows.

 _Up in the mountains_  
mad as I can be  
Lookin’ for the cat that  
took my baby from me  
Shoutin’ Hey, ba ba re bop!

“How exactly am I doing this?” Delia asked with a mixture of fright and excitement.

“Yer a natural, Red, an absolute natural.”

“I would’ve taken you for a rock and roll guy,” said Charles, surprised to find his feet tapping.

“I am. But, hey, I like _anything_ that gets me movin’.” The ghost whipped Delia into a spin that sailed her across the room. She slammed into Charles. “Your turn, Chuck!”

The party shifted into high gear as the liquor and music worked their magic. Free from the scrutiny of their kids and their neighbors, inhibitions were shed, along with suits, ties, shoes, and cumbersome jewelry. Even Sandy Lowell was enticed, after a glass of wine and another Neitherworld whiskey-laced ice tea, to shake a leg with her husband. The records ran out, and the state-of-the-art sound system took over with a dance party jam radio station tuned in from Los Angeles.

Nobody knew what time it was when they collapsed on the furniture, laughing and panting.

“Something to eat!” Delia chirped, rising dizzily to her feet. “We need something to eat! Girls! Gimme a hand!”

“I gotta tinkle,” said Punky, scurrying to the downstairs restroom.

The men were pouring another round when Beetlejuice wished he’d beaten Punky to the toilet. He wanted some fresh air, anyway. “Be right back, funsters. Gonna see if th' moon’s still out.”

It was. Beetlejuice walked to the flower bed by the fence in the side yard overlooking Peaceful Pines. Standing just outside of the light thrown by the windows, Beetlejuice looked up at the waxing white moon in the starry sky. “Beautiful,” he muttered. He unzipped his fly and began watering the flowers.

Beetlejuice was actually _enjoying_ himself. Enjoying himself without haunting, without pranks. Well, technically he _was_ haunting: he was a ghost in the company of the Living, in his haunted house. Technically, serving the Living Neitherworld booze _was_ a prank. But this was the least ghostly he’d been since, well, he croaked. It felt weird, _good_ weird, doing dances he’d done when he was alive, hanging out with people who didn’t have missing limbs, wounds, scales or tentacles, getting drunk together, telling dirty jokes, laughing. But it wasn’t his style, to let the Living alone for so long, without at least sprouting a snake out of his nose.

Maybe, _maybe_ , he’d let them all go home without being frightened. Yeah. Just this once. He was feeling too good. Lydia would be proud of his willpower.

Beetlejuice shook his favorite body part and stuffed it back into his briefs. The second he was zipped, something large and heavy tackled him from behind, slamming him face first into the lawn.

“Call 911!” yelled a male voice.

“The fuc—“ Beetlejuice spat out grass. His arms were pinned behind his back, and a knee pressed down on his neck.

“Don’t move, you bastard!” warned the voice, a young man's. He yelled again, toward the house, “Call 911!”

The ghost’s temper blew.

The man on top of him was thrown backward, landing with a loud “ _OOF_ ” on the lawn. Beetlejuice wheeled around, transformed into a seven-foot-tall rotting corpse, with blazing orbs in a face of putrefied flesh. Maggots wriggled in the cavity where his nose had been. Black widow spiders clung to his thin, grassy hair. He raised fingers with claws for nails and snarled as he lurched forward.

The man was backlit by the light from the windows, so his face was concealed. But his scream was loud and clear, echoing off the house and into the village below.

“What the hell?!” The door flung open. Charles and all the men ran out onto the porch.

Knowing he was in the light, Beetlejuice instantly resumed his normal form. He pointed at the man sprawled on the grass. “This asshole _jumped_ me!”

The man flipped over onto his hands and knees and scrambled for the porch. “He’s some vagrant, pissing in your flowers! But he looked…he looked…. Call the cops!”

“He’s a _guest_.” Tom Lowell grabbed the man by the shoulder and pulled him inside. “No matter what he looks like.”

“I should goddamn press charges,” Beetlejuice huffed, his dignity bruised as he stomped up the steps and into the house.

“Couldn’t you have used the _upstairs_ bathroom?” Delia rolled her eyes as she closed the door after him.

“I apologize.” The man, who was as tall as Tom Lowell, was still backlit, this time by the living room’s lamps. Beetlejuice could at least see that he was offering his hand.

Snorting, the ghost maneuvered to get a good look at the person he was planning to seek revenge on, when the time was right.

He was young, college age. His sculpted face was handsome. His eyes were vibrant blue, and his hair, gorgeous even though mussed, was a rich gold. He smiled. Teeth that straight and white weren’t natural. He looked as fit as Jacques wished he could be.

A cold feeling of recognition crept over Beetlejuice’s skin. Goosebumps rose on his back.

“Chad Lowell,” said the young man, offering his hand.

Beetlejuice’s left eyelid twitched. His hands clenched and unclenched. His voice was very deep and very dry as he breathed, “Chaaaad.”

“Uh, yes.” Chad glanced at his parents, as if uncertain whether the older, shorter, tubbier man facing him was deranged or just stupid. His smile faltered, but he hiked it up again like a trooper. “You may have heard of me, from Mr. and Mrs. Deetz. I’m Lydia’s boyfriend.”

To his credit, Beetlejuice did not jump on the young man and rip out his throat. With every ounce of juice he had, he held himself still, with only scales forming on the back of his hands to indicate what he felt. “Boyfriend? _Lydia Deetz’s_ boyfriend? Ya don’t say.”

Tom Lowell clapped his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You must forgive the boy, Beetleman. He works Volunteer Security at Sarah Lawrence College. I’m afraid your little _indiscretion_ alarmed him.”

“Sorry, Old Sport.” Chad grinned, his hand patiently waiting for the older, uglier man’s shake.

“ _Old Sport?_ ” Beetlejuice snorted. “Nobody’s said that since nineteen-twenty-six!” _An’ I would know!_

“Sorry.” Chad chuckled in a way that usually charmed people. “We’ve been reading _The Great Gatsby_ in Honors’ American Literature. Jay Gatsby’s slang has rubbed off on me.”

“Got to the point yet of how Gatsby _dies_?” said Beetlejuice, his eyes narrowing.

Chad reached out, took Beetlejuice’s right hand, and shook it. Having met his obligation, the young man stepped away.

“Chad, we weren’t expecting you.” Charles’ tone was tense, as the guests found seats. “What a, um, _surprise_.”

Beetlejuice slid like a snake behind the bar, thinking it wise to keep a large piece of furniture between himself and the young man. He poured a shot of Neitherworld whiskey and sucked it down.

“Sorry, Mr. Deetz. Father had said that if I finished exams early, I might want to see Peaceful Pines for the first time, since he and Mother would be here.” Chad’s voice was very polite, cultured, and mature.

Beetlejuice’s teeth loudly ground on an ice cube.

“Didn’t know the invitation was Adults Only, Deetz.” Tom Lowell shrugged. “Figured since Sandy and I are staying the night, you wouldn’t begrudge Chaddy a room.”

“Well, we, uh…” Charles glanced at Delia, who closed her eyes in resignation. “Of…course.”

“As long as I’m not imposing, Mr. Deetz,” said Chad.

Beetlejuice sarcastically mimicked to himself, “ _As long as I’m not_ _ **imposin’**_ _, Mr. Deetz_.”

“Well, golly, we have more rooms here than we know what to do with,” said Charles. “I suppose we should introduce you around. Chad, these are the Brewsters.”

“Claire’s parents.” Chad nodded. “She’s quite successful. You must be very proud of her.”

C.W. puffed out his square chest, if only because the boy had had the good taste to not mention recent incidents. He nodded at Chad.

“And this is Mr. Beetleman.” Charles gestured to indicate the glowering man behind the bar.

For a tiny moment, Chad’s expression of absolute certainty and confidence faltered. “Oh. So, _you’re_ Mr. Beetleman.”

“You’ve heard of him?” Tom spoke what all the adults in the room were thinking, including Beetlejuice.

Chad seemed to regret his stumble, but quickly recovered the brightness to his eyes and flash of his smile. “All the news about,” he glanced at the Brewsters, “what happened a while ago, the name was mentioned. Lydia said something about having met him, _you_ ,” he nodded at the ghost, “once or twice.”

“That all she said?” Beetlejuice asked in a tone of innocent query.

“Pretty much.”

 _Liar_. _Yer face says she said somethin’ you didn’t like._ He couldn’t imagine Lydia being indiscreet enough to mention him. What had she said, and why?

The appearance of one of their children put a damper on the party. The adults glanced at each other, then at their watches and the wall clock.

“Look at the time!” said Delia, for them all. “We old fogeys need to get some shut-eye!”

“Charles,” said C.W. as he and Punky put on their coats at the door. “That was quite a night.” He raised an eyebrow at Beetlejuice. “So. Then.” He leaned over and whispered desperately into Beetlejuice’s ear, “Top dollar for a bottle of _Devil’s Balls_. No questions asked. Contact me through Charles.”

“Righty-O, “said Beetlejuice, laying his finger to his nose and winking.

“Tom.” Beetlejuice grinned, facing the Lowells with his arms wide. “ _Sandy_. S’good ta see ya again. _Hugs_.”

“ _No_.” Sandy Lowell ducked behind her husband as if “Mr. Beetleman’s” arms were the jaws of a steel trap.

“Mother, is this man bothering you?” Chad planted himself between his parents and the ghost.

“There’s something _about_ that man,” Sandy muttered for the fifth time that evening.

“That’s all right, son,” said Tom, guiding his wife further away from Beetlejuice. “Your mother’s just _tired_.”

Chad examined Beetlejuice as if certain he had weapons hidden about his person. He stood at his full height and looked down his nose at the ghost. “It was nice to meet you, sir. I hope you’ll forgive that unfortunate introduction.”

“Aww. ‘Sir!’ What a _nice_ young man.” Beetlejuice grabbed Chad’s cheeks with his red-tipped fingers and shook them as he spoke through clenched teeth. “So _polite_ an’ _well-behaved_. You can just see why Miss Deetz is _crazy_ about him.”

Chad pulled his face free and rubbed his cheeks. “Yes, _sir_. “

“So, Chaddy-kins,” Beetlejuice threw his arm around the taller man’s neck, forcing him to slump over, “how’s th’ little lady?”

“I, well—“

“I’m sure her ‘rents wanna hear what she was up to, th’ last time ya saw her.”

“I haven’t…we actually don’t, I mean, I actually haven’t spoken to her since she came back.”

“What? _Really?_ ” Beetlejuice’s arm tightened. “Yer lady comes back t’college, an’ ya don’t rush t' see her?”

“We don’t need to see each other every day. Classes were starting. We had to prepare for beginning-of-term exams.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Ya could’ve at least taken her out fer coffee. Young people t’day, no romance, I tell ya.” Beetlejuice hissed in Chad’s ear, “You mean ya didn’t take her for a _nice long drive?_ I hear ya like escorting ladies _in yer car_.”

Beetlejuice felt Chad’s Adam’s Apple jerk against his forearm as the boy swallowed, hard. The young man straightened abruptly, throwing him off.

“I don’t believe you know Miss Deetz well enough to be asking such questions.” Chad ran his hand over his hair and fixed Beetlejuice with a suspicious glare as if aiming through the viewfinder of a rifle.

Beetlejuice replied, in a low voice, “Ya don’t know me well enough t' know what _I know_ well enough. _Know whut I mean_?”

Chad retreated with his parents to the living room.

“Beetleman.” Charles shook his hand vigorously. “You certainly know how to liven up a party!”

“Always have, always will, Chuckster. An’ you, Red…” Beetlejuice opened his arms and winked at Delia. “C’mon. Give yer favorite handy dandy man a goodnight hug.”

“I think I may have something catching,” said Delia, trying to retreat.

“Awww, yer just _shy_.” Beetlejuice lunged, grabbed her with her arms pinned to her sides, picked her up, and squeezed. He let her go and she gasped a lungful of air.

Delia gestured to the Lowells. “Let me show you your _*cough*_ rooms.”

Beetlejuice waited at the door as Delia and the Lowells went up the stairs. He grabbed Charles’ upper arm and yanked him close.

“Look, Chuckie, that Lowell kid,” Beetlejuice whispered urgently. “Didn’t ya say yer daughter dumped him?”

“Yes, she said they weren’t dating anymore,” whispered Charles, flustered.

“ _He_ says they’re dating, when she says they aren’t. He invites himself t' yer place, without callin’ an’ askin’ first. Doesn’t that strike ya as _wrong_?”

“Well,” said Charles, who hated conflict of any kind, “it was a while ago when Lydia said that they broke up. Who knows, maybe they’ve gotten back together. And Tom invited Chad, so the boy thought it was all right.”

“Not t' tell ya yer business,” Beetlejuice whispered raspily, “but remember back when all that strange stuff happened, about Claire Brewster? I told ya I’ve heard _things_ about that kid. Ya familiar with th' word ‘lothario?”’

“But, how would _you_ hear anything about a boy you’ve never met, who goes to college at a place you’ve never been—“

Beetlejuice chuckled as he shook Charles by the shoulders, “Let’s just say I got my sources. I get around, Chuck. I think ya should ask yer _daughter_ about Chad’s status as her _boyfriend._ ”

Charles eyes narrowed to slits. “Did Lydia say something when you were here and _we_ weren’t?”

Beetlejuice stepped back and held up both palms. “People will say things t' their bartender, an' hairdresser, an' Handy Dandy Man that they might not say t' family members, is all I’m sayin’. _Ask yer daughter._ ”

Delia and the Lowells were coming back downstairs. “…a nightcap!” Tom’s voice said as they entered the living room. “You can join us, Chad. You’re not driving anywhere tonight!”

“Oh. Should he really be drinking, Tom?” Delia, whose jive had been derailed with Chad’s arrival, wasn’t eager to have him getting tipsy with her as well.

“Nonsense! Lord above, woman, I’m beginning to think you’re not the Bohemian artist I thought you were! Were your college years really that dull? Didn’t _you_ enjoy a snort now and then when you were a student?”

“Never at my friend’s parents’ house,” said Delia, with dignity.

“But in this case, his parents are with him! Come on, Chad, you’ve got to try this remarkable whiskey Beetleman---“

“Yeah, it’s great stuff.” Beetlejuice strode quickly to the bar and grabbed the bottle of Neitherworld liquor. He held it up to the light. “Oh, man. Not much left.”

The Deetzs’ and the Lowells’ eyes widened as they watched “Mr. Beetleman” chug the remaining contents, which was easily a fourth of the bottle.

Beetlejuice wiped his mouth on his wrist. A loud belch erupted from his mouth. “Gee golly gosh, fun-seekers, it’s two a.m. Time for all good handy men t’hit th’ road.” He waved as he walked past the Living. “I can see myself out. Chuck, Red, ya need anything fixed, or catered, or,” he shot a look over his shoulder at Chad, “ _exterminated_ , you just give me a call.”

“But, I thought you didn’t have a phone,” said Charles, confused.

“Oh. Right. Heh. Complicates things, doesn’t it? Uh, call Ol’ Bill at Maitland Hardware, he’ll get in touch with me. See ya.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw all three Lowells come to the window to watch him. He nonchalantly unlocked his car, waved at them, got in, and “started” it. The car, being dead, had no real working parts, but the ghost had juiced it so it made engine sounds and the wheels turned, in spite of actually floating a quarter of an inch off the ground. He tore off down the long drive and into Peaceful Pines.

The moment he entered the cemetery, he called up a thick, concealing fog. He zapped himself back to the Deetz’s side yard.

Huffing like a werewolf stalking prey, the ghost glared at the humans in the living room, who couldn’t see _him_.

“So what do I do to th' bastard?” Beetlejuice muttered. “I can’t _kill_ him. But I can make him _wish_ he were dead.” He paced like a wild animal, not taking his glowing yellow eyes off the young man laughing in the living room. “I want it t’be slow an’ painful.”

There was a small flash on top of one of Delia’s nearby lawn sculptures. “Oh, no you don’t!” piped a voice.

Beetlejuice stared at the tiny figure of himself, wearing a blue-gray top hat, red vest, khaki-colored pants, mustard-colored cravat, black top coat, white gloves, and mustard-colored spats over black shoes. It held a teeny, closed umbrella.

“You have _got_ t’be kidding,” Beetlejuice muttered.

“I am Jiminy Beetle!” It waved its antenna. “I am your Conscience!”

“Since when do _I_ have a conscience?!”

“Since you finished off that bottle.”

Beetlejuice slapped a hand over his eyes. “Shit. I never could hold my Dimethyltryptamine.” He snarled at his minuscule manifestation, “Bug off, ya sartorial roach!”

“ _Cricket_ ,” snipped Jiminy Beetle. “I’m here to stop you from doing something you’ll regret!”

“I never regret _anything_.”

“How about when you mixed Super Glue in Jacques’ Bone Whitener?”

“No.”

“Okay. So how about when you put laxative in Ginger’s Bran Flies, and she left web threads all over the Roadhouse for days?”

“Wow. Forgot about that one. That was hilarious!”

Scowling like a high school counselor, Jiminy said, “Then there was the time you stole the Lowell’s money _and_ car!”

“Are you kiddin’? That was a stroke of _genius_. Even Lyds liked that!”

“A _ha!_ ” The tiny figure pointed a white glove at his larger self. “How would _Lydia_ feel if you did something to Chad Lowell?”

“She’d throw a party an’ we’d screw fer _days_. Damn, that’s reason alone to do it.”

“No no _no_. Think with something other than your groin for once!”

“Why would I wanna do that?”

“How would Lydia _truly_ feel, if she knew you did something horrible to Chad Lowell, and or his parents?”

“Are you really from here?” Beetlejuice angrily tapped his head. “Because if ya are, I’m gettin’ that part removed.”

“ _How would Lydia_ _ **truly**_ _feel?_ ”

“Aaaaaaw, _crap_.” The ghost sighed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and gave the humans in the living room a look that would have curdled the cream in their Kahlua and creams, if he were close enough. “She wouldn’t like it.”

“And _why_ wouldn’t she like it?” peeped Jiminy Beetle.

“Because I got an’ unfair advantage over him. Bein’ dead an’ havin’ the powers that I do.”

“Aaand?” said Jiminy, like a kindergarten teacher.

Beetlejuice crossed his arms. “And she _chose_ t’be with him, willingly.” He added, in a snotty, bitter voice, “He didn’t trick, force or coerce her.”

“Exactly! So if you hurt him, she’ll blame _herself_. And you don’t want her blaming herself, do you?”

“I gotta do _somethin’_ to him!” Beetlejuice yelled. “That’s th’ bastard who _did it_ to my Lyds! I don’t _care_ if she was willin'! _He treated her like some cheap piece of ass!”_

“You’re just pissed because he noticed her as a woman before _you_ did. Because Lydia really wanted _you_ , and you didn’t know it. So she gave her cherry to _him_ —“

“ _Shaddap!_ ” Beetlejuice roared, spit flying. The little creature took out a handkerchief and mopped its face. “ _That smarmy brat made Lydia feel ashamed._ He’s gotta pay for that!”

“You _can’t_ hurt him.”

“Just a little bit! Nothin’ life changin’. He goes bald overnight!”

“No.”

“His dick, lemme get some more Lilliputian Powder an' shrink his dick!”

“Heavens, _no_.”

“A bad case of _gingivitis_ , fer cryin’ out loud!”

“The _mature_ respons _e_ would be to go to the Neitherworld, having sought no retribution.”

“ _Aargh!_ ” Beetlejuice yanked his hair in sputtering frustration. “ _Mature?!_ My pride’s at stake! My reputation’s at stake! I’m th' Ghost With the Most! Th' Cool Ghoul!”

“The Undead Blockhead,” said Jiminy.

“ _I can’t NOT do somethin’ to him!_ ”

“You could take him to lunch at a bad restaurant,” his Conscience suggested. “But _you_ have to pay.”

“ _ **That’s it!**_ _”_ Beetlejuice grabbed the tiny creature by the back of its collar and lifted it. “I’ve had enough outta ya!” His striped, pointed tongue licked his lips.

“Hey! _Hey!_ ” Jiminy kicked and flailed. “What are you doing?!”

“You’re a _cricket,_ ain’t ya? An’ crickets are _beetles_.”

“I’m your Conscience!”

“Didn’t anyone tell ya? I eat _consciences_ fer _breakfast.”_ The ghost tossed the yelling creature into his mouth and slammed his jaws shut with a loud **crunch**.

“Ugh.” Beetlejuice spit out the tiny umbrella. “That was hard to swallow.” He hacked up a tiny shoe. “Heh. I spat out a spat."  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.  "Bet Freud would have somethin’ t' say about this.”

In a puff of smoke, a man with glasses, a mustache and goatee, wearing a tweed suit and sitting on an oxblood leather armchair, appeared on the foggy lawn. He said, in a dry German accent, “You are clearly feeling guilt for this realization that you are jealous that this younger, more attractive man had intercourse with the woman you desire first. You believe causing him pain will alleviate your guilt—“

“Aw, go smoke a cigar! Yer mother’s callin’! _Scram!”_

“Feh,” said Freud, and vanished.

“Sick jerk. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah! _Revenge_.”

Chad wasn’t in the main guest room. Tom and Sandy were there, in crisp, expensive-looking pajamas, their backs to each other.

 _I’ll deal with you later,_ thought Beetlejuice.

Chad Lowell was in the smaller guest room. Beetlejuice sneered as he looked at the sleeping young man.

_He did it to my Lyds. In a bed like this. What do I do? Give him acne. Naw; mange. Gingivitis ain’t a bad idea; make all those perfect goddamn teeth fall out_

A puff of smoke appeared in midair, not far from Beetlejuice’s head _._ Another minute figure, this one dressed identically to the ghost, sat cross-legged and with crossed arms.

“Hey! Beetlejerk!” it squeaked.

“What is this, a Christmas Carol?” Beetlejuice hissed through clenched teeth. “ _I’m_ th’ one who does th' hauntin’ around here! Who th’ hell are _you?_ ”

“Yer _Cunning_ , moron. Looks like ya need me.”

“I know what I’m doin’!”

“Oh yeah? _Think_. The Lowells were here before, an’ met ya, an’ things went screwy for them. Claire Brewster says she was hangin’ around with ya, an’ things went screwy fer her. So Chad Lowell meets ‘Mr. Beetleman,’ an’ what if things go screwy with _him?_ If ya hurt him, or disfigure him, or give him a disease, how long ya think it’s gonna be before someone decides t' come after th' Handy Man with torches, pitchforks, an’ holy water?”

“Aw, holy water doesn’t affect anybody.”

“The _point_ , pinhead, is ya don’t need any more suspicious activity happenin’ t' people who’ve met ‘Mr. Beetleman.’ If yer smart, you’ll leave th' kid alone. Capisce?”

“G'wan, get outta here!” Beetlejuice swatted at the figure. It stuck its tiny tongue out at him and vanished with a _poof_.

“ _Shit._ That made sense.” Beetlejuice paced back and forth in the room, tapping a forefinger on his teeth.

Chad groaned, rolled onto his stomach, and hugged a pillow.

_Look at that smug, self-satisfied, vainglorious kid. He was so sure the Deetzs’ would let him stay he brought his own pajamas! Ralph frickin’ Lauren! I gotta do something to him. Somethin’ humiliating. Something so not Mr. Perfect._

Beetlejuice stopped in his tracks. A wide, wicked grin spread over his face. “ _Kid_. Yeah.” He chuckled evilly. “Just a quick visit to the bathroom. That’s all it’ll take.”

The ghost vanished in silent flash of lightning.

* * *

The Deetzs and Lowells didn’t notice that the triangular clock on the living room wall had turned from green with little yellow triangles to black-and-white striped. They also didn’t notice it now had two yellow eyes watching their every move.

“So. Um,” said Charles, to no one in particular.

Tom and Sandy Lowell weren’t looking at the Deetzs, and Charles and Delia weren’t looking at the Lowells.

Chad wasn’t looking at anyone. He was unspecifically glaring, as if wanting to accuse someone of something, but not having any candidate. His hair was perfect, his posture admirable. But his face was beet red. He was holding clothing, which looked like his pajamas, in a clear plastic bag.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom Lowell said, abruptly.

“You’re welcome,” said Charles, equally emotionless.

Dean Lowell jabbed his son with a sharp look. “Chad.”

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Deetz.” He sounded as if he were six.

The Deetzs joined their guests at their car, for some obligatory small talk. Red-faced Chad got in his own car, impatiently waiting for his parents to conclude their goodbyes.

The living room phone rang. The Deetz’s answering machine clicked on, then beeped.

“Mom, Dad.” It was Lydia’s voice. “I heard you might get an unexpected---“

Beetlejuice manifested and snatched the phone receiver. “ _Babes!”_

“Beetlejuice! What are you doing in—“

“Long story. Gotta talk fast, yer ‘rents are just outside, seein’ off th’ Lowells.”

There was silence for several seconds on the line. “You didn’t kill him. You wanted to, but you didn’t.”

“Aw, babes, you know me so well.”

“I’ve wanted …it’s been on my mind. Hearing _he_ was going to show up there, unannounced, made me know that I have to tell you something.”

Beetlejuice frowned and took the phone into the back hall. He braced himself. _Yer tired of me, an’ you want Mr. Handsome back, thanks fer everything, now yer kicking me to the curb._ “Yeah?” He heard a car door close. “Say it fast.”

“I’m glad I had sex with Chad first----“

“Awww, no, beautiful, don’t do this to me---“

“ _Listen!_ I’m glad, because he was so awful. So, _typical_ , from what other girls tell me. I’m glad my first two times taught me what I _don’t_ want, about what it’s like to have _sex_ , but not _make love_.”

“Yeah?”

“Because he made me appreciate _you_ more. “

The ghost didn’t know what to say.

“And to be honest,” said Lydia, with a blush in her voice, “losing my virginity to my best friend would have been…creepy.”

Beetlejuice considered. He imagined if Lydia’s first time had been with him: so nervous, maybe even frightened. He probably wouldn’t have been able to get it up. It wouldn’t have mattered that they’d known and trusted each other for years. It wouldn’t have worked. “Yeah. If I’d taken yer cherry---“

“ _EEeew!_ You did _not_ just say that!”

The ghost chuckled. “Guess that’s proof how bad an idea it would’ve been.” Relief washed over him.

“So _don’t do anything to him,_ okay? He’s an asshole, but hurting him won’t change that, any more than it changed Claire.”

“Ya heard about her new contracts?” snorted Beetlejuice.

“ _Yes_. Whatever. I don’t care about her life, just as long as she doesn’t mess with _mine_.”

A bubble of dread suddenly rose and burst in Beetlejuice. “Look, baby…I know someday yer gonna get tired of me—“

“What?”

“--- an' yer gonna want someone else, or a lot of someone elses, an’ that’s natural, yer young, ya shouldn’t be chained t’one guy---“

“Where is this coming from?!”

“I just want ya t’know, that…that I’m an older, fat, ugly guy, an’ I’ll understand when ya---“

“ _Shut up!_ It’s seeing Chad that did this, isn’t it? _Oooooo!_ How can a man with an ego the size of the entire Neitherworld get so _insecure?_ Stereotypically, it’s the _girl_ who’s supposed to be insecure!”

“An’ yer not?”

“Of course I am! You’ve got so much experience, I know how low your threshold for boredom is, and not all the girls in the Afterlife are ghouls.”

“ _Hey!_ Don’t ya even think about me wantin’ someone else!”

“OK. But only if _you_ stop thinking about me dumping you! I don’t want to think about the future. Not the part I can’t control, which is pretty much all of it, if life so far has taught me anything.”

Outside, two cars started. One was crunching down the driveway.

“They’re coming, aren’t they?” said Lydia. “So what _did_ you do to him?”

“Lyds!”

“ _Beetlejuice_.”

“It wasn’t anything big.”

“Facial warts? A plague of zits? Halitosis?”

Charles and Delia were walking up the front steps.

“Call yer parents back. They’re at th’ door.” He blurted, “Love ya, Lyds.”

“Love you, you idiot.” Lydia hung up.

Beetlejuice possessed the wall clock as the Deetzs came inside.

“I couldn’t stand the embarrassment for another second,” groaned Delia.

“Well,” said Charles with a sigh, “they probably felt worse than we do.” He paused, and added, “These things happen.”

“He’s _nineteen_ , Charles. And then saying that _someone_ had stuck his hand in a cup of warm water while he slept! Who was in the house, except his parents and _us_? Was he accusing _us?_ Yes, there was a cup of water in his room, but we _know_ what happened. All that wine he had last night made him thirsty, so he got up in the night to get some water, and then, well! To be nineteen, and not take responsibility, and then to lie like a five year old. I mean, _really._ ”

“I don’t particularly like him, anyway,” said Charles, sitting down with _The New York Times_.

“’Particularly?’ I don’t like him at all! He flirted with me, Charles! _Flirted_ with _me!_ The stepmother of his so-called girlfriend!”

“He did?” Charles looked disturbed that he hadn’t noticed this act of rudeness.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I like _Mr. Beetleman_ better than Chad Lowell!”

The clock grinned, but they didn’t see it.

“And then he expected me to wash his pajamas! He can take them home and do them himself! But _I_ have to wash the sheets and the blanket. The entire mattress will have to be cleaned! How does one clean a _mattress_?”

Charles considered. “Call Maitland Hardware. Get Beetleman to do it. He seems to know how to do all kinds of things.”

_Shit, no! I am_ _**not** _ _cleaning Chaddy’s piss!_

“I couldn’t do that! Because he was here, and he’d know one of us did it. I’ve suffered enough embarrassment, thank you! You know, I’ve a good mind to buy a new mattress and send the bill to Tom and Sandy. They’re knocking themselves out trying to get a big donation from us; well, let’s see how far they’ll go to keep us happy! In fact, I’m going to Hartford right now to shop for one!”

Charles grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

_HA! I got him_ _**and** _ _his parents! Double score! ‘Juice, yer a genius._

The phone rang and Delia picked it up.

“Lydia! Dear! You just caught me….Oh, _yes_ , you better believe he showed up! Sit down and let me tell you the whole story!”

Beetlejuice settled in, listening to Delia dish. Later, after exams, he’d fill Lyds in on the details. Right now, he was basking in triumph.

 

 **The End**.

 


End file.
